Image source: Unsplash
by Varsha Vedapudi
One of the biggest lessons of third year has been the emphasis on “pertinence”. Take a concise history, avoid irrelevant questions, and be efficient. While these skills are essential, I began to notice how clinical efficiency can, at times, surpass what matters more to patients - trust and connection.
As a student on the Labor & Delivery service, I was assigned to follow a 25-year-old Haitian Creole-speaking patient, Marie, through labor. Her only companion in the room was an iPad translator perched on a rolling stand. Labor was soon complicated by placental abruption, and she was taken for an urgent C-section.
On post operative day 1, I opened the post-op template on Epic and began asking questions through the virtual translator app. Marie looked exhausted and alone, her baby in the NICU according to the last note. I went down the checklist—pain, bowel movement, urination. Everything was normal. Clinically, she was recovering well, and after examining her incision, I closed the translator app.
Just as I was about to leave, she pointed to the bathroom. After checking with her nurse, I walked her there and helped her do a warm-water rinse. Watching her wince in pain, it struck me that we were the same age yet separated by the barriers of circumstance, and language within the health care system. I handed her a wash towel and asked, “How is the baby?” miming a cradling gesture. She shrugged, lifting her hand in a gesture of uncertainty. She didn’t know how her baby was doing. In that tiny bathroom, I realized that despite technically appropriate care, a fundamental need had gone unmet.
This moment clarified for me that professionalism in medicine is more than just compassion. It is recognizing one’s responsibility for gaps created by the system and acting with integrity to address them.
Once I helped her back into bed, I reopened the translator and learned she had visited the NICU but hadn’t been able to speak with a physician. I checked the baby’s linked Epic chart—no Neonatology notes. After rounds, I went to the NICU to understand their workflow. Their rounds were usually at 10 a.m., and parents were encouraged to come then. When I shared this with Marie, I could see the gratitude flicker across her face.
The next day on rounds, Marie kept looking at me when the attending asked questions. Then, she broke into a wide smile and told me her baby was doing well, according to the NICU team.
This moment stood out not because of its complexity, but because it demonstrated how small acts of professional responsibility can restore trust and improve the quality of care delivery. Clinical rotations teach us to be pertinent and efficient, but caring for Marie reminded me that this can never be at the expense of understanding what matters most to the patient. Marie looked at me during rounds not because I knew the most clinically, but because I had paused long enough to listen and help navigate a system that had left her alone. In the end, knowing how her baby was doing wasn’t outside the scope of her care; it was her care.
Varsha Vedapudi is a fourth-year medical student at UTCOMLS.
